Untitled
by cursivenight
Summary: James POV of his death and what came after. One-shot. Untitled because I couldn't think of anything to encompass the emotion or idea of this fic without sounding ridiculous.


**Disclaimer:** Just an idea that wouldn't leave my head. Anything you recognize is not mine, and I am endorsing no particular religious idea of an afterlife.

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><p><strong>Untitled<strong>

Helplessness overwhelmed him as the cruel face of his enemy filled his sight. He had escaped the...creature (for what he faced was no mere mortal) in similar situations three times before. He had fought for years, lost his parents and lost friends to this monster. This time he knew he was going to join his deceased loved ones - he was a dead man. This time the encounter wasn't taking place on the edge of an epic battle, or with the Order at his back, or even with the Marauders flanking him. In fact, one of those Marauders had betrayed him, letting this final battle take place in his own home. Worse yet, he didn't even have his wand. Thoughts of his wife and son flashed through his mind, and he was agonized by the thought of leaving them behind. His only goal became to buy them time to escape the same fate as him. He charged his adversary, hoping to surprise him, or use his physical prowess to hold him off. Even as he did so, he knew it was futile. They were in a world of magic, a place where physical prowess meant nothing in battle. No one escaped this man for long. They had been lucky before, but now, he knew, no longer.

As he launched himself forward, a high, cold laugh filled his ears. He had only time to register his distaste before the killing curse was uttered. A flash of green illuminated the faces of both victim and murderer; the trademark of the curse that none survived.

His body fell limp to the floor of his own home, dead. His expression was blank, and James Potter was defeated. The caster of the spell that had killed him, Voldemort, laughed once more at the dead, then swept himself away after the girl and child.

James, though gone from human reach, was experiencing something completely unexpected and foreign to him as he transitioned fully from one world to the next, living to dead.

The dread and fear had disappeared when the curse had hit him, and then it had seemed like he was suspended in pure nothingness for eternity - yet at the same time it felt like only a split second.

Before James could even begin to comprehend what had happened he was abruptly hurtling through a twisting tunnel. Speed caused his eyes to water and choked off any sound he made. A whistling sound filled his ears, and James dimly realized that the whistling was actually thousands - no millions! - of voices and sounds. He could not even begin to sort them, and attempting to do so caused him to become even more disoriented than he already was. He could barely form a coherent thought, and he wasn't even sure if his eyes were open or closed. All he could see - or thought he could see - was billions of vague, dark grey shapes that whipped past before he could isolate a single one.

His whole being seemed to be being pulled apart in every direction. It wasn't painful, yet James wanted to cry out in agony. He seemed to be going faster, and the sounds did not cease; the vague shapes increased in complexity. The pressure all around him increased.

Slowly, ever so slowly, James vaguely noticed the tunnel (or whatever it was) was lightening - the dark grey shapes became lighter, and the pressure on him lessened. The sounds were happier, no longer causing James to cringe. He travelled like this for some time, until the shapes and sounds faded entirely. He felt more clear of mind, and noticed it was like he was traveling through light rainclouds now. He felt suddenly very cold, and began shivering. As he started to curl into the fetal position, his chill disappeared completely. The grey colours around him disappeared as well, and James felt himself free falling.

Abruptly, he stopped, landing on his side as lightly as if he'd jumped two feet into the softest mattress. He relaxed his clenched body, and stayed still for a moment, reveling in the sensation of normality. He felt no pain, no stiffness, no fatigue. He felt better than he had in... years.

He breathed deeply, tasting the cleanest air he ever had inhaled before. He slowly pushed himself up, and had to close his eyes temporarily from the brightness. Slowly, he opened his eyes once more. His hands flew to fix his askew glasses, but merely out of habit. He didn't really seem to need them anymore - his vision was very clear and precise. Interestingly, James noticed though he had returned his glasses to their proper position, his vision did not change for the worse, despite the fact without them his vision had been crystal clear.

He stood, almost awkwardly, and marveled once more at how well he felt. He took a step forward, then stopped in order to take in his surroundings.

James couldn't really see anything, except for the 'ground' he stood on and the 'sky' above him. Though there was nothing marring the landscape, he felt that something could appear at any given moment. He could not explain it to even himself, but that feeling was still there. He turned his attention to what he was standing on - it appeared to him to be clouds, the ones that were usually associated with thunderheads. The 'ceiling' above him was very blue, and faded to black around the edges. There was, however, no stars or moon in the sky, and despite the area being very bright, James saw no source of this light.

There were no markers to identify distance or location. James whipped around to look in the direction he guessed he had appeared, but he saw nothing of the tunnel or gate or whatever he had passed through.

As he looked around, the initial shock of his arrival faded, and he recalled what had sent him here. He had died from the killing curse, uttered by none other than Lord Voldemort himself. It gave James comfort he had died protecting his family, and desperately hoped they had escaped the same fate as him. He briefly wondered how Peter could have betrayed them, and if he had done so purposefully, but his thoughts quickly refocused on Lily and Harry. He automatically ran his hand through his hair. He glanced around, hoping that his surroundings would yield answers. Anything, really.

Surprisingly enough, they did.

An oversized looking-glass appeared, a few hundred meters off in the distance. He made his way quickly towards it, surprised once more at how well his body seemed to work. He sprinted the last hundred meters and was not even out of breath. He had been fit in his life, from Quiddich and the Order, yes, but this was something else entirely.

When he reached the mirror, he saw that it was quite big. It was encased in a golden frame, twisted in Celtic knots. There was an inscription on it, in a language his eyes did not recognize, yet he knew the words said: "Here, you may see, but beware, for you can never be."

He looked at the mirror before him in wonder for a few moments. It was beautiful, and he could feel the magic emanating off of it. He peered into it, but the surface reflected nothing - it was a shimmering, moving silver. He tentatively stretched his hand out to touch it. As his fingers made contact with the cool surface of the mirror, the silver colour suddenly faded to the deepest of blacks, then a blinding white. The light nearly made him jerk back, though it did not hurt. He forced his instincts down, and continued his hand and eye contact with the mirror. The white faded back into the silver. Disappointed, he withdrew his hand. The mirror suddenly became blurred, and when it cleared he could see her. Lily.

She was standing between their son and Voldemort. He could not hear her voice, but he knew on instinct what she was saying. The look on her face was enough. She was pleading. His heart wrenched - the first pain he had felt in this place. His fingers traced her beautiful face, realizing as he did so that he was crying.

The tears fell from his cheeks and onto the ground, where they slipped into the cloud-like floor with the faintest of hisses.

He did not understand why she was still alive, being allowed to beg. Perhaps Voldemort wanted her as a Death Eater. Perhaps he had a sick sense of humor. James did not know.

His eyes involuntarily closed as the green flash filled his mirror. His heart broke as he thought of Lily. He hoped she would be here, with him, since she could no longer be with their son. He wished it with all his heart, though he did not suppose she would be since he had seen no evidence of others.

He opened his eyes to a dark mirror. As he watched, a faint light suddenly illuminated the face of his son, Harry. Another flash of pain hit him as he watched, preparing to see the last of his family be ripped off the face of the Earth.

The flash of green soon came, but this time, something else happened. Something different. Something had caused the curse to rebound upon the caster and for Harry to be spared.

A great lightness filled James, and he rejoiced for but a moment. The jubilation slowly subsided as the great mirror faded into darkness and then returned to its silver state. He wept then, both from joy that his son had survived, but also in sorrow for the curse his son must bear - no parents, a confused past, and a task that no one should bear. James was so wrapped up in his grief that he started violently at a hand on his shoulder.

It was Lily. Her beautiful red hair and enchanting green eyes were the first things James noticed. She too, was crying, and he wrapped his arms around her. They wept together, holding the other for what they had left behind. They said nothing, for nothing could be said.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> So there it is. I rewrote this about three times and edited it about five. It just wouldn't leave me alone.  
>I always find thinking of Lily and James' death as profoundly sad. I titled this 'untitled' because I really couldn't think of something that would do it justice.<p>

Oh, and hope you guys all enjoyed Deathly Hallows pt. 2!


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